30 Day Fanfiction Challenge: Hetalia
by Whyntir
Summary: Fanfiction is a tricky media. There are always road blocks, pit falls, and niches. Using the classic 30-Day Challenge meme, specifically rendered for Fanfiction use, this challenge is to test the limits of every fanfiction writer. The rules, and daily challenge are posted on DA. Various characters, various ratings, various genres.
1. Friendship

Frost smothered the window as drifts accumulated on the sill as snow danced through the dark, catching the light of streetlamps and dusting the earth in stardust. The warmth of the bar promoted the ease that seeped into his old body, restful. With it being such a cold night, there were not too many patrons to consider the drinkery crowded, but just enough to take notice. Green eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, noting the time with a concerned edge, though it was not uncommon for his companion to be late. A half-folded coat and dark scarf lay across the stool beside him in the far corner, away from the rest, simply enjoying the solitude that was portioned for him. After so many years, listening to the murmurs of the children, he could honestly say it never bored him. No matter how many times he heard the same conversations before.

The door could be heard opening, attention being pulled away to search for his friend. Two men stepped inside and stomped their feet on the door mat to rid themselves of the powdered flurries, neither he knew. About to return to his anxious waiting, just as the door was about to close, a blonde man ran in, his fair hair falling just below his chin as he scanned the bar. Their eyes met and that familiar smile greeted him, followed by an enthusiastic wave of the arm.

"Liet!" the newcomer called, drawing peculiar glances of the people around him before he all but ran to the brunette, grasping his arm in an affectionate hold, "Sorry, I was, like, totally not expecting this much snow."

He smiled, seeing through the lie easily, "It's alright, the snow slowed me down as well, so I haven't been here long."

Poland grinned, taking the words like an eager child took candy without question. "It's, like, been way too long since we, like, totally hung out! Have you, like, worked out your money matters and stuff?"

"Ah," Lithuania gave a wry grin as a hand ran through shoulder-length brown hair before being halted by a low ponytail, "I'm not too sure myself in all honesty, but it seems everyone is catching it in some way or another. In comparison, I'm in pretty good shape."

"Can I get you two anything?" a bartender suddenly appeared, a stern woman with a stout body and dark auburn hair pulled back into a bun, but with laugh lines creased into her features.

"I'll, like, have a _Zo__łą__dkowa_," the blonde ordered, glancing to his fellow nation, his carefree smile never faltering.

"_Ł__owicka_ please."

The dim lights, the gentle chatter, the warm building, the bubbly company. It reminded him of other times, where this sort of setting took place in a large, private home instead of a public tavern. "Feliks," he asked, cutting off the endless babble that he could only partly listen to at the speed it was given, "do you ever find yourself missing . . . _those_ times?"

Green eyes blinked as he made out exactly what Toris was talking about. Their little corner fell silent save for the small 'thank yous' as their drinks were served to them. They sipped in relative silence, though by no means was it uncomfortable. It was, perhaps, the only time they could communicate without walls, barriers between them. Without even having to look at each other, without voicing a single thought.

_'Sometimes, yeah, I guess.'_

_'Sometimes, I miss seeing everyone every morning. I find myself about to make a large meal only to remember I'm on my own.'_

_'Sometimes I miss the work. I miss the times everyone had a place to call home.'_

_'I miss those times when we all could be in the same room and smile.'_

"But, like, we're still here," Poland suddenly spoke, jolting his friend out of his thoughts, "Even if all the others are, like, doing their own thing and stuff, we're still here." His smile was warm, comforting and relaxed as he savoured the golden alcohol.

The drink's warm buzz and taste of wild roses, sitting in the dark corner, relishing the company just as much as the drink. A smile graced his features. Outside it was cold, the pearly glass showed no farther than the small pile of white that clung to the windowpane. After hundreds, thousands of years, it was natural for friends to come and go, to laugh together one day and becoming sworn enemies the next. Thousands of years of betrayal, pain, grief, anger, sadness, loss . . .

Joy.

Bliss.

Happiness.

"Yeah," he finally sighed, emerald eyes shut as the glow seeped into his old form. Finishing his drink with a quick tip of his head, the shot tapped hollowly on the dark wood counter. He gazed into the facets of the empty glass, content, "We're still here." An arm slung over his shoulders in a partial hug, laughter dancing through the air and into his undying memory.


	2. Family

_Frigid October winds pulled at ill-suited clothes for the chilled weather. The sounds of the canons had silenced and gunfire had faded into a far-off memory if not for the smoke rising from the distance. Blonde hair whipped about in the flurries as he ran against the gusts. Pale cheeks flushed red from the cold, anxiety and uncertainty in his blue eyes. Who had won the battle? Who would return home with him? Which house would be 'home'?_

_Habsburg?_

_Brandenburg?_

_The guilt that had rocked his entire being these past seven years as men fought, suffered, and died. An unintended addition as he may have been, or so the brunette had assured him, it had not softened the pain of knowing he was the heart of the conflict. A child who appeared no older than ten with the weight of mortals upon his head, such thoughts finally faded with the end of this battle. He had heard of the Russian Empress, as well as the way France had been diverted overseas to the New World._

_The plains were flatland of wild grass and sparse trees. His feet carried him over the fields towards the battle, slipping on hidden pebbles and bringing him to the ground. Ignoring the stinging in his ankle as it twisted from the change in terrain, the boy scrambled to his feet, clouds of laboured breath puffing about his face. He was almost there. He could see the flags blowing in the wind. The black eagle flew proud over the graveyard. Worn, tired, half-alive, but proud. The dark blue uniforms and triangular hats._

_It was decided._

_The pain in his ankle finally bubbled to the surface, protesting his irrationality and demanding a rest. Feeling weak, the child collapsed on his rear, legs stretched out before him as he watched the men move towards the city. The sky bled crimson as the sun wearily resigned from another bloody day. His shadow cast long and far over the flat earth, stopping at **his** feet. Carmine met powder blue, a fierce cut across his cheek and his clothing torn and bloodied. For a moment he looked to be the most terrifying creature the boy had ever seen. Cold, distant, a feral gleam to those unnatural ruby eyes. It sent shivers down his spine with the help of the October winds._

_But that smile . . ._

_Those eyes . . ._

_The way he softened, his demeanour melting away to that of familiarity. His arm raised in a wave, his hand bandaged, blood seeping through at the fingers. He waved back, unable to smile as easy. Yet the albino grinned from ear to ear._

"_Gilbert!" a voice called to him, turning to greet the elder man in a similar uniform. They spoke, that hard face returning for just that time. It was a side of the man he had never seen before. He was just too used to the laughter. The carefree spirit._

_The crunch of boots over the dried grass drew his attention, looking up expectantly. "You really are mad. Running out here without proper clothing. You'll catch cold dummy."_

"_I . . . felt like I had to come," he looked away from the laughter in the other's eyes, despite how he fought to suppress it, "I had to know if the war turned."_

_A hat fell upon his head under the firm pressure of a hand, that warm smile beaming down on him, "It's not quite over yet, but it's you and I again. You must be sick of me by now." How the man could speak so naturally, without care, while his body was battered and bodies strewn out behind him, was a mystery. It took strength. A power that not just anyone could possess. One had to be endowed with such abilities through time and nature._

_But did he have that tenacity?_

"_Oi, Ludwig, let's go home."_

_Blinking out of his thoughts, the blonde frowned at the swelling ankle, "I hurt myself when I was running." A small stain of blood on his knee also informed him that he had taken a worse spill than he thought he had at the time._

_The older nation regarded him with a mixture of concern and bemusement before holding out his hand, "That's fine. I'll help you."_

_The small appendage seemed to disappear in his grip as he was pulled to his feet, one hanging limply in the air. In a swift motion, the ground fell away, and with a strength that one would never expect from this wounded being, he was single-handedly swung onto the man's back. The warmth of his body against his chest melting the chills from his bones._

"_Home it is," Prussia smiled, clasping his hands together behind him to act as a seat for his passenger who held one arm securely about his shoulders, the other on the battle-worn hat. Ludwig allowed a timid grin as they started on their way, a soldier and a child. No two ever looked so out of place; two brothers leaving a battlefield, bathed in the fiery halo of the autumn sunset._


	3. Hurt & Comfort

"_Brother, I'm- . . ."_

"_Then go!" he suddenly shouted, fist slamming on the table. She watched him, almost regretting this decision, almost. She could see the pain he endured every time they took their things and left. The was he would longingly stare into now-empty rooms, or around the house, gazing so intently at nothing. Little by little the family of his house disappearing, leaving this manse and empty shell. Now, as she delayed to scrutinize the unusual bought of suppressed anger, in the dim light of the candles he had resorted to when money became tight, she could see diamonds falling from his dark eyelashes. He cried so silent . . . did he cry for every one of them?_

"_Brother . . ." Her hand reached out to him, hoping to comfort his pain, but stopped, hovering just inches away. Fingers slowly curled into a fist before her arm dropped to her side. If she comforted him, it would only be harder . . . for both of them. Still, her tears stung the normally icy blue eyes. Her voice a quivering whisper as she spoke, unsure if he could even hear her._

"_Good-bye."_

* * *

The house had once been so large, so beautiful. Everyone worked to maintain what they had, and while there where those times of fear, even anger, there had also been smiles. As she looked upon the decrepit home, the wood worn from the elements, no one bothering anymore, the curtains drawn and no smoke from the chimney, she felt a part of herself ache. After all, she had lived in this place.

_'Why did I come back here?'_ she berated herself, her weight on the porch steps causing them to groan in protest, _'There is nothing here. No money to circulate, it's America who is rich.'_ Standing solidly before the door, the cold fall winds blew through her porcelain hair, feeling like fingers raking gently through the locks, a fatherly greeting from the general. That's right, this was her home.

_'To hell with his blood money.'_

Returning to the old wood door, scarred with an age that should never have affected it, an ominous depression lingering within. A gloved hand lingered above the knocker, doubts bombarded through her mind. Should she really do this? There had been so much sadness in this place, and it only looked worst. What was left here? Those foreign dewdrops that stung her eyes with salt pricked at the sensitive nerves, all resolve crumbling. This was what her house had come to.

Just as she was about to turn away and flee the cemetery that was once a home, the latch clicked heavily and the old pine creaked as it was pulled away. How long had it been closed? How long since a soul stepped outside. Whom she saw, however, was not at all the one she had expected.

Ice met embers in mutual surprise, neither expecting the other. Prussia stood on the threshold of the mansion, a duffel bag strap hanging on his shoulder, a dark gray hat over the snowy locks. Blinking twice to regain her senses, she faced him frontally, "I forgot, you are still here."

"Were," he spoke, neither greeting the other, and their eyes locking in that way that had always enraged her, but it had been so long since someone had looked into her eyes without fear or intimidation, even condescension. It was almost refreshing in the change alone. "He's not doing too good . . . he let me go."

"What does that mean, 'not doing too good'? That is hardly anything to go by," her tone was clipped, but she knew he could see the anxiety in her eyes, unable to hold it back.

His eyes looked dark, not emotionless, but resigned as he held her gaze, where she knew anyone else would have looked away. Even America had after he let some information slip about her brother. She would forever hold some respect for the old nation for his straight-forwardness. "He won't be here much longer. The Union is collapsing, and him with it. It can only get worst before it gets better." A frozen wind gust around them, though both numb from the inside out and did not respond. "You should go and see him."

"And," her voice faltered, sounding weaker than she would have ever allowed, "where will you go now Black Eagle? The Allies slayed you decades ago."

"Where my people wish to be. The wall is gone in spirit, so I'll see my brother. There may be talks of unifying."

Nodding as she bit the inside of her lip, she approached the door and he stepped to the side, granting her passage. Stopping for a moment as they stood side by side, looking straight ahead. She could see the furniture, some fallen on their sides, others broken, the rest having had no use for the past few years. Dust had collected on everything, and none of the lights were on, despite how dark it was. Wallpaper was peeling and cracked, the beauty now extinguished. "Are you happy this has happened?"

"I don't know," he responded, knowing exactly what she was talking about. "I just know he never meant anything. He just cracked a little, and one day we all will. We'll crack and crumble 'til there's nothing left."

Silence reigned a little longer before she dropped her head, lips moving softly before stepping inside and the door closing behind her. He stood for a moment, his own gaze unblinking as he stared at his boots. "Don't thank me," the albino murmured to the porch, "In the end, I left too."

* * *

Inside, she scanned the anomalous abode, unsure how to feel now that she ventured up the worn stairs. There was so much history here, so much culture and love. Her heart ached to see this, like looking into the very soul of her beloved brother and watching him decay before her eyes. Curtains from years she could vaguely recall hung dejected like condemned criminals, the rich carpets faded. It was such a large house, everyone had chores to do to keep it clean. With no one here and no one to care, it was hardly a wonder why it was in such a state of despair.

Turning the corner, all the doors were closed firmly, leading into the bedrooms. Their names were still on each door, from Romania and Bulgaria's quarters down the hall to herself and Ukraine. Almost tempted to look inside, when she tried a random knob, it refused to budge, having been locked tight as though he was keeping some part of them inside.

Then there was his room. Knocking twice as she opened the door, the room was lit by the warm glow of candles, as though electricity was too much. His bed was large, a canopy looming over the sickly frame tucked into the freshly washed blankets. This room looked the same as always, clean and well kept with not a single flaw in her memory, if not for the still figure sunk into the pillows.

"Gilbert?" the weak voice called softly, "I already relinquished custody of you. There is nothing-." A fit of coughing broke off his speech, twisting her heart violently as the unfamiliar prick of tears rose up once again. A choked gasp escaped her as she saw his eyes, glazed over and staring blankly, unseeing.

Swallowing her heart in her throat, she walked to his bedside, taking a seat in the chair beside him after removing her coat and gloves. Seeing him so thin, weak, small. Was this truly her big brother? Strong big brother who had cared for her and fought against Nazi Germany alone and won? Who was left to suffer and starve, fight and die while his allies used him to buy time, and still, he always called them _friends_.

There was silence as the one before her blinked placidly, The great Soviet Union, calm despite where he was. "You're not Gilbert . . ."

Shaking her head, despite knowing he couldn't see, her hands reached out to his, resting on the covers, clutching onto him as though she could transfer her life. But she had hardly any more than him. Biting her lip, the hot tears fled their confines, down flushing cheeks to fall to their joined hands. Ivan's finger's twitched, his breath catching a moment as his eyes widened in surprise.

"Who . . .? Natalya?"

"Brother," her voice choked, dropping her head to rest against his chest as her body convulsed with silent sobs. Another hand wrapper around her shoulders, stroking her hair gently. "I-I'm so sorry . . . br-brother!" The cries would not stop as guilt wracked her body, the older nation softly hushing her, an attempt to calm her down.

"This is not your fault Natalya."

Looking up into his pale eyes, the fire and light behind them now extinguished and replaced with . . . nothing. Smouldering embers, a mockery of his former self, was all that remained. "I love you brother. I've always loved you!"

"I know."

Her grip tightened, knuckles turning white, but he didn't even flinch. "Brother . . . marry me?"

"Natalya," A small laugh escaped chapped lips that upturned in a gentle smile, cracking and splitting, dying the sensitive skin crimson. "There is nothing left to love. I'm dyi-."

"Let me be your wife, if only for this short time brother. Let me be here for your last days, so you'll no longer be alone. I'll always be here Ivan. I'll clean and cook, care for you like a dutiful wife. Just . . . please . . ." Her voice trailed off desperately, her eyes were begging, every muscle quivering. "Through sickness and in health, 'til death do us part: I do."

He remained silent for a while, his heart pounding slow, it frightened her with how weak it felt. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he whispered the next few words, Belarus having to tilt her head to hear them. "'Til death do us part."

_A promise sealed with a scarlet kiss._


End file.
